


Bits and Pieces

by cmwaisner



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:27:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26547508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmwaisner/pseuds/cmwaisner
Summary: A series of thoughts, of words remaining unsaid.





	1. Fearful

I am fearful--of failure, of death, of lost love--and yet, I still find myself thirsting for that rich experience of life, of companionship--but what cup can be filled to impossible standards? Can hold honey and yet not that sweet hope I long for? I reach for birds unable to fall, for clouds beholden only to divinity--look upon me, for I am holy, a fallen angel cursed to want that which I cannot be granted.


	2. Stars, Fierce Fires

When I look at the stars, I see flaming sparks of promise, ripe with the chance of inspiring life. Those indifferent lights, way up in the sky, inspire life in me--breathe words into being through my lips, create music with the air in my lungs, write stories through the singing wind in my veins--those thrumming balls of fire bring life to that which would never see the light of day. That is why I look at the stars. Those flaming orbs spark a fire in me--and create the things which I am too weak to accomplish alone.


	3. Heart-Held

When I was sixteen, I killed someone, stripped a part of myself from my inner workings. She wasn't particularly missed, I don't think. Not by anyone else, certainly not by me. I think she was glad of it--being stripped form the earthly plane, from this body of mine. It's hard to be trapped behind prison bars, when the walls are bloody and pulsing around you. When the world passes you by, passes through your veins like a wind too high to hear, too heavy to hold. She can't see the stars in there, I know. She misses them, as all children miss that which gives them safety. Gives them warmth. Perhaps that is why I think she's happier, now. Now she can see those lights on my face, as she passes on above, a free spirit, now not only in name but in being. My tears are like comets, sparkling as they race towards earth. The child within me would've found them beautiful. She would've praised their glory.


	4. Exodus

I place my hand in fire, and yet I do not burn. My feet, once blistered, now tread sacred ground. Do you doubt me? Doubt my sightless faith? My eyes cannot see earthly trappings, my ears unable to hear mortal song. I listen only to my Father, for He is my only hope for a saving grace. I have led no people, commanded no Exodus––do not look to me as a shepherd, I am nothing more than sheep. But if God should ask... I will be a wolf, in His name. My given title means nothing, if only to belong to Him. To be used as His uniting battle cry. 


	5. Hear the Drums

A heartbeat hits like a drum when it echoes off of empty walls. Am I even living, now, without you to fill the space? What once was soaked in sunlit laughter is barren and cold; what once was graced with your lovely smile is dark and unfeeling. It leaves a numbness that is too hard to expel, a frozen wasteland of a home. Your things are gone, and your presence hardly seen, if only remembered by the gentle touch of your hands to the doors. Your warmth has long been leached from the cracks of the walls, and still I sit, waiting. My soul is not enough to light the flame of the fireplace, my desperate hope not enough to replace you in this shell of what once was paradise. My eyes roam aimlessly, my body aches with the echo of you pressed tightly against it, and still, still, I hope––I pray––I _cry_ for your return.


	6. She Shines

She looks like the moon, glowing and magnificent against the black sky. Stars cannot compare, the sun stands no chance. She is a beacon, a call of hope to my broken soul. She mends me. She seals the cracks, seals this promise between us. She, the sweetest balm to my cracked mind, my shattered heart; I, a conduit for her great peace, her gentle mercy. She steps into water, a mirror to the endless void of sky, and even beneath ink she glistens. Her loveliness shines even when engulfed in a soul as black as mine. If even she can withstand those dark, savage currents, gentlest of souls that she is, perhaps hope is not lost to me after all. Perhaps even blossoms can grow in this dead soil. 


	7. Instruction

Who am I but a reflection of a number? I'm the smart kid, the know-it-all––but I find myself woefully unprepared for those experiences that come without a guide, that come without instruction. I have no authority in my bones that is not given to me by those that have taught me obedience. I miss the days without rules, without goals, without expectations––with only the order, "be kind." But those days are long gone, and so too my willingness to stray from my given path. There is nowhere I have gone that has not been guarded, and so I lack the knowledge to allow myself freedom, as wise as I seem to be.


	8. Inadequacy

Inadequacy is a disease rotting within my brain. I can feel it, pulsing, waiting for my heart to slow, for my barriers to fall. It threatens to consume me, my every waking moment, tear through the future I have made for myself. I'm fighting for every spare breath, every word on my tongue––failure sits heavy in my stomach, weighing me down. Chains on my ankles, forcing me from my shallow shores. I can feel this water, this poisonous self-loathing choking me, but my hands are bound by fear––how can I swim when I cannot float? How can I fly when I am not free? When I have already fallen? Judgement rests heavy on my brow, a crown to bind my thoughts of hope. Of rising to the surface of this endless darkness, if only to see the sun one last time.


	9. Warmth

Hold my hand, darling, please, I crave the feel of your skin, the warmth in your marrow. Won't you lie with me? The cold you leave creeps into my lungs, freezes the words I long to say. I have always been a coward––my only source of bravery is your heart beating; my greatest source of fear that it will stop. I feel the imprint of you like a brand on my back, like the parting kiss of hot iron. I burn for you, my dear, but all fires turn to ash, and all ash is swept up by the wind when not contained by a source of solidity, of stability. And you have swept me away, my love. Your departure has swept the feet out from under me, with no arms there to catch me. Without you to slow my fall.


	10. Death of Day

I will see the death of day, if only when I am born anew. Every day is a rebirth, every sunrise a new beginning, and I wake every morning to a fresh heart. Innocent, whole, until it is cracked again at twilight. The moon bares my soul for breaking, the dying fingers of sunlight reaches desperately to shield me. But even as I am fearful, I still allow myself to be beaten, my soul to be drained of life by those I call my loves in the nighttime. I do so, because love in the sunlight always slips away at dusk, and I would rather be knowingly used than betrayed in ignorance. Tossed aside, as if I am expected to be unhurt by their absence at dawn.


	11. Letting Go

There is a heaviness on my chest, a heaving in my lungs. The nasty stain of guilt. A cleansing wave, a healing kiss––and perhaps I am clean again. You are a balm, but you are not blameless. Often you are the source of my self-hatred, and often the cool palm of peace's hand. You are destruction and devotion alike, and I am addicted. But it is time to let you go. It screams in my gut, tears at me, this withdrawal that burrows so deep, but I must cut you from myself. Like the loss of a limb, the leaving of love, we will not break even. My world will tilt, I shall stagger, but I will stand. I will stand alone. I let go. I release you. I hope your clawing hands unclench, I hope your screams recede. I hope I do not succumb. I hope, and I do not falter. I hope, and I do not fail.


	12. Stillness

The whole world has fallen still, time-stolen; the silence carries like a thunderstorm. Soft rain pauses mid-fall, just as the sky breaks. Shafts of sunlight skim dewdrops in the air, a sparkling cloud around my head, a halo. I lift a hand, take a clear bead onto my fingertip, and how great, how awe-inspiring is this moment? The world has ceased spinning, swimming in the great vastness of space, and here I stand, the sole observer, possessor of it all. How beautiful is it, to know a second of time, untouched by others? How heavenly, to feel as if the world is yours, if only for a moment?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I could stop time.


End file.
